


The Girl with the Vallaslin

by Bekahdawn21



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-09-30 15:05:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10165628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bekahdawn21/pseuds/Bekahdawn21
Summary: A modern Dragon Age AU because I'm trash. Here we find Cullen Rutherford, ex-Templar, now bartender in a college town. Enter Rouen Lavellan, in her senior year at the small liberal arts college.





	1. Broken Up

**Author's Note:**

> This story is going to be super rough at first, and I apologize. I've been feeling the need to write Dragon Age fanfic for a long time now and this is the result of that urge.  
> Technicalities of the world will be hammered out later, but there is magic in this modern au.

Cullen had grown used to the sudden inflow of college students in the last week of August. That first weekend, his quiet job bartending at the local brewery always became a mad circus. College students were loud. The energy buoyed him at first; he loved the cacophony, the rumbling of noise, the _smack_ of pool balls, the giggle of college girls just turned twenty-one. But then he got tired. Tired of college students drunkenly ordering beers and tipping only fifty cents. Tired of the girls, unable to order properly as they hid behind their hands, giggling and writing their numbers on napkins. He kept the first couple, but as they kept coming, he began throwing them away, ignoring the suggestive glances of his coworker, Dorian. He looked forward to going home, lying down on the couch with his mabari.

On the first Friday of the semester, his night became a blur of faces - most flushed and smiling, and one with vallaslin. Blood-writing. On a girl who tipped him three dollars for a five dollar beer. There weren't many Dalish at the college, which was sponsored by the chantry. He forgot about her eventually, however, finally getting home around three a.m. and falling asleep to an old crime show, Wrex drooling on his stomach.

He woke to his phone ringing, vibrating near his head. He groaned and fished it out of the couch cushion.

"Hello?" he rasped.

"Are you just now waking up?" Cullen jerked upright, dislodging a grumpy Wrex.

"Eliza? What - why are you calling?" he asked.

The woman on the other end breathed out - more of a growl of frustration than a sigh.

"I told you I'd be by today, Cullen. To get my things?"

Cullen held in a 'fuck' and glanced at the clock. 12:30. He'd slept in.

"Are you going to let me in?" Liza snapped.

He could practically hear her tapping her foot on the stoop, glaring at the door.

"Yeah. I'll be right there."

He groaned as soon as he hung up, rubbing his face. He was still wearing his work clothes from the night before, wrinkled and smelling like beer he hadn't even drunk. He thought about changing, but what good would it do? Eliza had already broken up with him; she wasn't going to change her mind no matter what he wore.

He regretted not changing the moment he opened the door and Eliza narrowed her eyes at him. Wrex ignored the tension between them and bounded down the foyer, sliding on the hardwood and almost taking Eliza down. She bent down to pet him, the corners of her mouth becoming just slightly less tense.

Cullen pulled away, forcing himself to walk, step by step, down the hallway. The sooner she had her things the sooner she'd be gone and he could sit in his wrinkly clothes in peace. She followed after him, holding her arms out for the box. With one hand she sifted through the contents, peering underneath the clothes on top.

"Is everything in here?" she asked.

"Should be," Cullen replied.

"Like that?" she prompted, pointing at a Templar Academy mug sitting next to the sink.

"Oh, right." Cullen stumbled over and rinsed the mug out quickly before setting it in the box on top of a piece of lingerie he tried hard not to look at.

"I'll text you if I find anything else," he said.

"Right, thanks," Eliza said, much quieter now that they were face to face.

Cullen followed her back to the door, Wrex licking her hand the entire way, obviously not ready for her to leave again. Eliza turned one last time just outside, her stern expression softening.

"Cullen," she began.

"I'll see you around, Liza," Cullen interrupted, snapping his fingers for Wrex to come back inside. He shut the door with a quiet 'click.'

 


	2. The Embrium Brew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rouen slips away to the bar on a Wednesday to do some homework, accidentally falling into a conversation with the very attractive bar tender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very drama free chapter; I've been in the mood for light stuff. There's literally no update schedule for this at all because I am trash.

Rouen stumbled into The Embrium Brew Tuesday night after the coffee shop closed, hoping for a table at which to work on her essay and a cold beer to wash down the espresso. Graduate school was going to kill her; she could already tell. On top of the usual intensive writing and work shopping, she had to actually teach a first-year writing class. With no teaching experience.

The bar was, for once, almost empty. The last time she’d been inside, Saturday night, had been wild. Infectious. She’d drunk a few too many beers that night, and lost too many games of pool. She scanned the room as she set up her laptop. A few couples spotted the tables; a couple guys played a quiet game of pool. A bartender stood behind the counter, chatting with a customer in a denim vest. The bartender was the same one from Saturday – the one her friends had giggled at for what seemed like hours. He leaned forward as if the customer was someone he knew well, his smile showing off the small white scar above his lip.  
Rouen approached without a word, not wanting to interrupt their conversation but also not wanting to sit in the bar without buying a drink. Finally, the bartender looked over, and the way his eyebrows shot up told Rouen he hadn’t even noticed her enter. The woman in the denim vest looked over too – Rouen couldn’t help but stare at her biceps, speckled by burn scars. This was not someone to mess with.

“Sorry; I didn’t see you there!” the bartender said, turning to give Rouen his undivided attention.

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” Rouen said, and blushed.

She probably sounded like a middle schooler, socially awkward and shy. The bartender, blond, with just the slightest brushing of dark stubble, held his hand out for her ID. The customer smiled at Rouen.

“Homework at a bar?” the woman asked.

Identical scars across either cheek stretched as she smiled, the pale white lines adding to her overall look: imperiously beautiful but could KO you with one punch.

“Sometimes coffee isn’t quite enough,” accepting her ID back from the bartender.

The customer laughed and stood.

“Well, Cullen, my offer still stands. If you ever grow tired of bartending, let me know,” she smiled at Rouen again, “Good luck with your work.”

“Offer?” Rouen prompted once the woman was gone.

Cullen waved a hand, “Cassandra works at the fire station. She’s tried to get me to volunteer there for years but I’ve been in the mood for a little peace and quiet.”

“Peace and quiet? At a college brewery?” Rouen asked, and Cullen laughed.

Rouen stared too long at the way his eyes lit up, wrinkling at the corners, and at the small scar above his lip.

“You’re right, the weekends are wild, but week nights are usually laid back.”

“And then I came in and disturbed your peace,” Rouen said, smiling.

“It’s a pleasant disturbance,” Cullen said, and Rouen blushed.

The two of them seemed to realize at the same time that Rouen still didn’t have a beer. Cullen cleared his throat and shifted away from the bar, sliding into customer service mode. He was blushing too, Rouen realized.

“Well, I’ve failed as a bartender,” Cullen chuckled, “You’ve been here for like eight minutes already without a beer.”

“You may as well just give your apron to me,” Rouen responded, and then she forced herself to turn away from him and inspect the chalkboard menu, “Oh geez. Um, recommendations? I was too drunk on Saturday to know what I was drinking.”

“Any idea what you’ve liked before?” Cullen asked.

Rouen sighed, “I dunno. Just give me something. I promise not to complain if I hate it.”

Cullen grabbed a clean glass and stepped to the tap, letting the amber liquid run down the inside of the glass, topping it off with a perfect amount of head.

“Is that really called Maker’s Breath?” Rouen asked, inspecting the handle of the tap.

Cullen smiled and slid the glass to her, “It’s my favorite. Very light, very crisp.”

Rouen fished out her debit card, but Cullen held up his hand, “No, no, it’s on me.”

“Are you sure?” Rouen asked.

Cullen nodded, “It’s only fair, seeing as I broke bartender code and bored you by talking about myself.”

“I didn’t mind,” Rouen said, and then she smiled before she could have the chance to make a complete fool of herself, “Anyway, my work isn’t going to do itself.”

She raised her beer in a toast to him and made her way back to the window table, sipping foam off of the top to keep it from tipping over the edge. It was amazing that she managed to get any work done after that, knowing that Cullen was still at the bar, joking with the few customers, wiping the counter, cleaning out the in-house popcorn machine. After a couple hours, though, she looked up, realizing that it was growing dark outside and that she had entered into that strange haze where she existed inside the story she was writing. She sighed and leaned back in her seat, shaking her head. The last of her beer was warm, but she swallowed it anyway. It had been good – incredibly smooth, more refreshing than most beers. She looked toward the bar, wondering if she could go back up and thank Cullen, and found a dark-haired man standing behind the counter instead.

She blinked. Cullen must have clocked out while she was immersed in her laptop. With another sigh, Rouen began to pack up her things. Bag slung over her shoulder, she ambled back up to the bar, setting her empty glass on it. The dark haired man glanced over and grinned, his perfectly curled mustache lifting at the corners.

“Have a wonderful night, my dear,” he said.

A Tevinter, then. Rouen smiled and nodded, heading toward the back door. She had a lot of prep to do before class tomorrow; it already promised to be a long semester.


End file.
